Fantasy All's Fair

[Conifer]

"And?" She asks quietly, abandoning the task of the letter and focusing on Cyeria. She raises a hand to settle it over Cyeria's on her shoulder, running her thumb idly over the soft side of it. It's so strange to be on this side of her; Remin had seen this sort of seriousness before, countless times by now, but it had always been directed at other people. Now she stood in the face of it and it was easy to see where people found her wife terrifying. It wasn't the parts of war she had been good at; that was war. Yes, she'd made a name for herself in it, but anyone might have done that. If she hadn't been there, those terrible things would likely have still happened. No, it was this. This seriousness. Remin saw it easily, and it wasn't even directed at her with anything but loving intent. "What's best, do you think? To allow him to continue thinking that? Or to not?'' She'd like to say it would be easy enough to convince him that she was weak and easily manipulated, but...gods, it was easier to bluff in the opposite direction. Especially in the face of someone looking for flaw. Pretending when no one expected you to pretend was one thing, but this would be more difficult entirely. "My instinct would be to allow him to think you're basically running this whole place, but...I don't know. You know what he wants better than I do."

 

[Aerynth]

"A good question," Cyreia chuckled, except that there wasn't a hint of humor in it; more than anything else, she sounded weary. And gods, wasn't that true? It had been ages since she had had an opportunity to truly rest. Between doing paperwork, studying history and worrying over Remin, she hadn't slept properly for weeks, and the dark circles under her eyes were a testament to that. Oh, what wouldn't she give for one day of boredom! Even some wars were less eventful than the mess that was her reign. "If you seem weak now, he will never respect you. He's the kind of man that values the first impression," she explained gently and caressed her cheek. It hadn't been her intention to do that, but her hand did it automatically, as a reaction to Remin's closeness. Cyreia would have to keep those impulses in check, really, because acting like that in front of king Loran could cost them more than she was capable of imagining.

"Then again, I don't think there's any chance he'd ever really respect you. You're Athean, which is your greatest sin, and you're also a woman. Women generally aren't trusted with leadership positions in Eupriunia, you know? It's not how things are done there." If the rules had been a little more flexible and her role a little less restricted, Cyreia might have been able to avoid the whole Avther fiasco, but here she was. She also doubted that he would view Remin differently in that regard just because she wasn't Eupriunian. No, this part of the ideology extended to the whole world. "All in all, I think it will be safer for you to act like he expects you to. He won't see you as a threat that way; he'll likely lose any interest he might have in you once you tell him what he wants to hear. It... might honestly be convenient for you to play the part of fool in love," Cyreia said, somewhat uncomfortable. "That's likely what he wishes to see. I don't know exactly why he chose me out of all people, but apparently my age was a factor as well. He needed someone who would be able to get close to you easily, it seemed." Well, he had gotten what he had wanted then, right? The fact that it might have worked a little too well for his liking was something Cyreia decided to ignore for now.

 

[Conifer]

If the situation wasn't as complicatedly dire as it was going to be, it might be fun that their situations were reversed. Ordinarily it was Cyeria who had to be less careful about looking the lovestruck fool, but now Remin would be able to take that place - but not truly. They'd still be in the face of Athea, and she just...couldn't. In private, she could play that game, but she wasn't going to throw away the shreds of respect that she had over trying to convince Loran that she wasn't a threat. She needed her people to trust that she had their best interests in mind - not that she was some lovestruck fool who'd fallen for the man who personally aided in destroying them. She was, but- but she wasn't. And she did have their best interests in mind. She was trying to, at least, and that had to be enough. But they wouldn't understand that Cyeria was...well. Okay. Cyeria was Avther, and Avther had done those things, but she wasn't entirely that heartless person she'd seemed. They wouldn't understand that. They'd only see her as a traitor who had surrendered to Eupriunia and then made it so much worse by falling in love.

So she couldn't just play the fool, as much as she wanted to indulge in this stupid little game. Remin sighs. This isn't going to be fun. She'd been starting to look forward to the festival, even, with all their planning wrapping up. Well, Loran aside, it was going to be fun. Their people would enjoy it even if Remin didn't, and that's what really mattered. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had fun that didn't involve Cyeria in some way, and it seemed that wasn't going to change. Which was alright, because she could remember the last time she'd had fun with Cyeria. Loran, at least, couldn't take that. "...Right. Yes." She agrees. "I'll...gods, I hate this. I hate the idea of allowing him to think he could crush me if he looked at me the wrong way. I'll do it, obviously, because you're right," as usual. Her clever wife. "But I hate it. First Wellan, thinking he could just...do whatever he wished, and now Loran. And we can't even behead him for scheming against me, even if he likely is."

 

[Aerynth]

"I'm sorry," Cyreia whispered. Remin probably didn't blame her at this point, but-- well, it was difficult to ignore her own involvement in this entire mess. Soldiers were just cogs in the giant war machine, yes, except that she hadn't been an ordinary soldier. If you wanted to use the same metaphor, Cyreia had been the one who had operated the machine, who had kept it clean and ensured it worked without a hitch. The level of complicity was much, much higher. She wasn't arrogant enough to assume that, without her, Eupriunia wouldn't have conquered Athea at all, but she had definitely made it easier for them. More seamless than it would have been. "I'm sorry that you have to go through all of this, and I'm sorry that I don't have a better idea on how to handle the situation." She was also sorry that she continued to deprive Remin of her autonomy. Hadn't she promised that, with her, her wife would finally taste the freedom her position had never allowed to have? And yet here she was now, forcing her into yet another role; a role she explicitly hated. Would this trend repeat itself over and over? Was she foolish for believing they could build something genuine on such rotten foundations? Perhaps, but Cyreia wanted to believe it didn't have to end like that. That they could escape the ghost of their wedding, and the circumstances that had tied them together. For that to happen, though, she had to put in some effort.

"If it is unbearable, though," she said softly, "and if you think it will do more harm than good should our subject witness it, we can do this differently. It would be more difficult in some respects, but I'm sure we could manage that as well. I just... wanted to direct king Loran's attention away from you. That won't happen if you seem even slightly capable, but-- I'll have your back. He won't hurt you with me there. He will be unpleasant and difficult to talk with, but if we don't give him a reason to suspect us of something shady, it should be fine." Cyreia couldn't make the man go away but she could, at the very least, present Remin with a choice. Anything more than that lay beyond her reach right now.

 

[Conifer]

"No," She says decisively. "No. I don't like it, but...whatever I have to do to even lessen the chance of a war even the smallest amount." Because none of this was really about her - it never was and it never would be. Nothing would ever work if she went with her own whims. "If it's best that he think I'm some spineless thing under your control - well, then perhaps I should write Lady Everbright. Get some lessons in seeming useless." Remin teases softly. As much as that's a joke, it's...perhaps not a terrible idea. The sisters would be at the festival, for all their involvement in it. Maybe she'd find herself spending some time with her. Surely that would only add to Loran's opinion she wasn't a threat, if she was to hang around Lady Everbright and her equally gossip-hungry friends. And at this point, after everything that had happened...talking about dresses and whatever person had managed to catch the Lady's eye that month would be a welcomely vapid change of pace.

Her expression goes a bit more serious, though, and Remin reaches to cup Cyeria's face between her hands. "You have my support here too, you know. I'm well aware that you know how to handle him at this point, but...anything. Anything you need. Anything that might help. I'm here for you, and always will be. I can't imagine this is going to be terribly easy."

 

[Aerynth]

"Oh, come on," Cyreia chuckled, practically against her will. How did Remin do it that she always, always managed to make her smile? They were discussing something that could decide the fate of the entire country; doom them or save them, at least if lady Beleret was to be believed. Why, then, did she find it so difficult to not joke around with her wife? Cyreia would never understand how her own mind worked, but perhaps that was for the best. "Lady Everbright isn't that useless, you know. I bet she has access to more information than all of our spies combined. Maybe we should employ her, really. She could serve both as a master informant and our fashion adviser." As silly as the idea was, privately, Cyreia had to admit that she sort of liked it. The woman had annoyed her to no end when they had met, but when compared to the others she had interacted since then? To Gregor Marsh, Wellan and even Isobel? She was delightfully simple, and she craved some simplicity in her life. Besides, lady Everbright genuinely seemed to like them for some reason. Was it strange that Cyreia preferred her company to all the backstabbers and schemers? No, surely not.

When the conversation took a more serious turn, though, her expression saddened somewhat. "I'm aware of that," she said quietly and clasped her hand. "I'm both aware and grateful. You're not who I doubt here; that would be me." She stayed silent for a few moments, trying to organize her thoughts. What had even caused this strange uncertainty plaguing her mind? Hadn't she talked with king Loran thousands of times before? That actually may be a part of the issue here. "You see," Cyreia started hesitantly, "I'm not at all sure whether I can handle him anymore. I could when I was a soldier, but... I don't know where I stand with him now. Before, I knew exactly where the line was; what I could afford to say and what would be a suicide. Moreover, I'm not even sure whether we're on good terms. I mean, he made me a king, except that the more I think about it, the more it feels like he just wanted to get rid of me," she confessed. "He knew I very much didn't want to end up here, and-- well. During the last few months of my service, I kind of pushed the boundaries. Interpreted some orders creatively since I didn't want to do certain stuff, things like that. I figured I could get away with it because it wasn't too outrageous and also because I was Avther and people loved me, but apparently not." Cyreia had never voiced that idea before - hell, she hadn't even admitted it to herself fully - and yet it made terrifying amounts of sense. The fact that he hadn't contacted her before spoke volumes about his love for her, too. What if this really ended in tears specifically because of her? God, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself.

 

[Conifer]

"I didn't say I'd write her for lessons on being useless." She protests, pleased that even now, there was some brightness to Cyeria's smile. "I said on seeming. Which she does, constantly." It was almost silly to look at her now. Remin had some fleeting idea when they'd met with her for the party that she knew more than she let on, but compared to Isobel, she was downright easy to figure out. She absolutely knew more than she let on. It was hard to tell if she cared, or realized its significance, but she certainly knew. Honestly, Cyeria's suggestion wasn't a terrible one, and if they weren't on the edge of a war then it might be something interesting to entertain. It'd be nice to have someone around who they could entirely trust. Who actually liked them, for some gods unknown reason, even if it wasn't quite as mutual as it could be. A thought for later, certainly. When everything had settled (as if it ever would.)

Cyeria's admission only made Remin more sure that little would ever settle. She hadn't been aware of how much she was counting on Cyeria - on Avther, more aptly - to be in Loran's good graces when he came to visit. She had little illusion to the fact that clearly he didn't want Avther around for some reason after the end of the war, but she'd hoped that marrying him off and naming him king had been an act of reward with the benefit of having someone he knew would be subservient. Now, it sounded like it was just....a way to take out the trash without truly dealing with it. That was going to complicate things. Remin frowned, quiet and lost in these thoughts as she ran her thumbs across Cyeria's skin. Well, it didn't matter. War or not, good graces or not...they had this. They had each other. That had been a mistake that King Loran had made - what's to say he wouldn't make more? "Everyone's stressed in times of war." she says, gently. "Show him that's all it was. Your defiance was stress, and now that the war's over, you're his again. We'll clean up whatever messes that makes. We just need him convinced that we serve him - or that you serve him, and that I serve you."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia couldn't help but smile again; Remin made everything sound so simple. Did her wife truly believe it would go so smoothly? That was doubtful, but she appreciated the attitude nonetheless. Falling into despair wouldn't have solved anything. "Yes. Yes, we'll just have to be convincing enough. I also don't think he truly hates me or anything like that. He did make me a king, after all. The relationship is just a bit strained, I'd say." Maybe she was just kidding herself, but she had saved his life at one point. Surely king Loran wouldn't forget that so easily? Besides, the orders she had... circumvented, for the lack of a better word, had been donwright stupid and her disobedience had only made things better in the end. That was one of the reasons she had been so confident about her actions; king Loran generally didn't mind such small acts of rebellion terribly, provided you had a decent justification and that it worked out in the end. Perhaps it had been the straw that broke the camel's back? Either way, Remin was right; they could (and should) try to repair the relationship. Too much hinged of it.

The next few days passed quickly; they were spent on preparations that seemed to never end. It went so far that eventually, even when she closed her eyes, Cyreia could see nothing but numbers. It reminded her of the days in the army, back when she took care of logistics, and so she drew on that experience to handle things now. This came with the side effect of being useful for once, which felt nice. While she still fell short in many regards as a ruler, she was able to take a considerable amount of workload off Remin's shoulders here. Cyreia only hoped that this trend would continue; that she'd learn how to pull her weight instead of being carried by Remin constantly. She tried, of course, but there were still so many things to learn! The list seemed almost endless.

Either way, their efforts were slowly paying off. Cyreia couldn't see a lot of it with her own two eyes since she spent most of her time buried under paperwork, but the festival was a topic of discussion in every pub, and people were apparently looking forward to it. They could all use some fun, it seemed. Perhaps more importantly, tourists started flooding into the area, and with them, new money came as well. Cyreia would have been much more inclined to delight in these developments if it wasn't for the arrival of king Loran, which was supposed to happen any minute now. God, did it make her nervous.

She and Remin were standing near the castle, surrounded by a small group of guards. It was only proper, after all, to greet your king outside of the castle walls; anything else would have been deemed an insult. "I can't say I feel ready," Cyreia said when the silhouettes of king Loran and his cohort finally appeared on the horizon. It was a beautiful sight, or at least it would have been had she not known who exactly was coming to visit; the sun hit their armor in a particularly striking way, and so they gleamed like polished gold. Too bad that this beauty hid thorns beneath.

King Loran, too, was a striking figure. He was taller than Cyreia and also seemed to be older, though it was difficult to guess his age. There were some signs of grey in his dark hair, though his eyes - cold and blue - were sharp and attentive. He didn't carry himself like an old man, either; despite being clad in armor, his movements seemed almost elegant when he jumped off his horse. Cyreia did her best to keep her expression neutral as he did so... which was more difficult than it should be, really, with her heart beating so wildly in her chest. This was the man who could either destroy their (more or less) peaceful existence here, but he could also help them flourish. What would he choose? They would find out soon. "My king," she muttered and bowed to him deeply, "it is a great honor to see you again." King Loran looked them over, his eyes so cold that a shiver ran down her spine.

"Yes, of course it is. It is good to see you too, Avther, but I didn't ride for hours just to hear you recite pleasantries. Tell me something interesting. Or you, my queen," he turned to Remin. "I'm sure you have something more exciting to share." Alright, what was that, even? A first test? Probably. Cyreia only hoped that Remin would manage to react quickly because she had no idea on what to say to that.

 

[Conifer]

Remin was grateful for the time between the letter & the conversation and the arrival of King Loran two-fold. It gave them time to prepare for the festival, to get lost in the planning and the schematics and the hiring and mapping and all of the things that were in some form a comfort to Remin, and it gave her time to run simulations in her head; how might she seem some flighty, besotted thing instead of the woman who had spent her life preparing to be anything but? Cleverness would doom her; pointed looks would draw suspicion. And yet she couldn't act the entire fool in front of anyone Athean, which was where the true rub was. It was beginning to seem less and less likely that they'd be able to strike some sort of balance there, even. She couldn't easily do both. She couldn't even with difficulty do both. And one, right now, mattered more than the other. So a fool she'd try to be. There was no option otherwise.

The day that Loran was set to arrive left her feeling much as the moment she'd been whisked away to Wellan's trap did; breathless, with her lungs snapped away from her body, and with her stomach in her throat. Everything all jumbled and jarred, with no sense of up or down or left or right. From the moment she woke (after restless sleep pressed as close as she could possibly be against Cyriea, savoring their last few true moments of (relative) safety) to the moment they stood on the castle steps, her in the place of less significance where Cyeria otherwise might have stood. He looked so...fantastical. Fake. She'd expected him to look shockingly...normal, in a way he might not suit, but no. That wasn't the case. He held the exact amount of grandeur that he should. She'd been less scared watching death walk across her war - though, wasn't that exactly what this was?

"...I'm sorry, my king?" Remin asks, the surprise to her tone genuine enough, but affected even more by practiced softness. How many times had she talked to herself among the paperwork, trying to strike the cord that settled neatly between faked and unsure of herself? Of afraid in general and afraid of some dooming future that might happen anyways? The number was embarrassing, that's how many. Still, it came out now just as she'd practiced. Practice and perfection and all of that utter nonsense. "I...wouldn't know what you found exciting. We- got a wonderful deal on fabrics for the nobility's tables for the festival?" Not a lie. They really had. Was it interesting? No, absolutely not, but it might be to Lady Everbright, and thus, it was to her now.

 

[Aerynth]

King Loran watched Remin in a way an eagle might watch a mouse; like a predator ready to swoop down and claim its prey's life. Cyreia didn't like it, didn't like it so much that her hand dropped instinctively to where her sword would normally have been, but-- well, this was one of the rare occasions it wasn't there. And even if it had? It still wouldn't have solved anything. Her blade rarely helped her these days. God, why did fate insist on placing her into situations where the only way of dealing with problems she was truly familiar with didn't work? Was it some sort of twisted karmic justice? A punishment for her past sins? Cyreia wouldn't actually mind that, but the fact that Remin was dragged into this as well simply wasn't fair. Her wife out of all people shouldn't suffer for her wrongdoings! (Except that, she knew, it would always be like this, with Remin perpetually paying the price. All of her good intentions couldn't change what their relationship was at its core; a hostage situation. The hostage had learned to love her captor, yes, but ultimately, it changed nothing. Cyreia was still just as guilty. Just as complicit.)

"Ah, yes," he said, after a while of silence that seemed to stretch on and on, to the point it felt like eternity. "That's positively thrilling." 'I shouldn't have anticipated anything else,' his eyes said, and Cyreia's anger flared once again. It made little sense, of course, because him underestimating Remin was what they were going for, but the contempt in his voice? That still made her see red. Fortunately, king Loran didn't think to look at her at that moment. "One would have expected you'd have more interesting things to share given the recent upheaval in one of your regions, but apparently it wasn't as eventful as I was led to believe."

"It wasn't, my king," Cyreia intervened. "Just old tensions finally reaching their boiling point. It hardly lasted a week, as I'm sure you're aware." Rumors travelled quickly, after all, and even if they didn't-- king Loran surely employed eyes that watched them. Not too closely, because they would have noticed that, but someone doubtlessly informed him on what went on in Athea. "I showed them quickly that defying Eupriunian rule is a bad idea," she added quickly. A loyal soldier, Cyreia supposed, would have said something like that.

"And you were right to do that," king Loran nodded. They started walking towards the castle as they spoke, their pace relaxed. An uninitiated observer would likely come to the conclusion that they were on a walk; it probably wasn't too far from that, and yet it felt like balancing on a tightrope. A single wrong step, a single moment of hesitance, and she would be sent tumbling down into the abyss. "I knew you were the right person to manage the country, Avther. Perhaps you've grown a bit soft-hearted, though; I heard that you pardoned most of those involved. That is most unwise. Did you teach him that, my queen?" he asked Remin pointedly.

 

[Conifer]

Remin tried not to shrink under his unyielding gaze, though it seemed impossible. It was sharp and edged - she couldn't imagine it ever being anything else. Never soft, never caring, never anything besides hurtling rapidly towards cruelty. And yet, she...couldn't find herself to be /scared/ of him. Scared of what he might do? Scared of the threat of war? Yes, absolutely. But scared of him? No. He was a man, as terrifying as his gaze was. Still flesh, still blood, still capable of that terrified look of a man dying that still haunted her quieter moments. She was not scared of the reality of him, just the abstract idea. That abstract idea would be here regardless of his presence. All that being said, he did still make her /nervous/, but with it came the comforting solidness of the fact that his existence was not as impenetrable as his gaze might suggest.

She fell a step behind them as they walked towards the blessed illusion of safety that was the walls of their castle. It wasn't safety by any stretch, but she could pretend. "Lord Wellan had...manipulated them, my king." She says, wondering how on earth to make an excuse that wouldn't sound like she had been /too/ involved. "I couldn't- I asked Avther to spare them. They're...still facing punishment, I think? But- yes, my king, it was my request."

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia felt a sharp tinge of panic rising in her chest. What was Remin even thinking? Hadn't they agreed she would play a fool in front of king Loran? A pretty status symbol? Why, then, did she admit to influencing her decisions? Hell, it wasn't even true in this case! The thought of executing them hadn't crossed her mind in the first pla-- oh. ... she's covering for me, Cyreia realized with growing dread. Gods. It would have been sweet, really, if it hadn't been for all the dangers it entailed. After this visit was over, she would have to talk to her wife about this... this strange tendency of hers to risk her life just to protect her. That was her job, dammit!

"Hmpf. Manipulation only influences the feeble-minded," king Loran spat out. "They still should have hung, if only to discourage foolishness."

"With all due respect, my king," Cyreia said, oh so calmly. This wasn't new; her position may have changed somewhat, yes, except that she had always argued with king Loran. Political decisions had been off limits since it hadn't been her place to comment on those, but strategies and such? Cyreia had frequently been the first to point out the flaws in his plans. That had been how he had noticed her among the mass of other young commanders in the first place; not knowing when to shut up had played a big role in it. Wasn't it better to let him think this trend hadn't changed, as opposed to her being controlled by Remin? It was. It had to be. "Killing them would have been the true foolishness here. Yes, my queen asked me to spare their lives, but I would have done it anyway. You get no benefit out of a pile of corpses. With those nobles still alive, we get to tax them heavily, which will help us recover financially. We also get to earn their gratitude that way. If we executed them-- well, I'm sure it would only sow the seeds for future rebellions."

Loran glanced at her with those empty eyes of his. What did he think? That she couldn't tell. "Not if you punish them properly. You're only encouraging future betrayals by letting them live. Still, Athea is yours to rule, and I shall not correct your mistakes. It is up to you to learn from them. I hope, my queen," he turned his attention to Remin once again, "that he hasn't been too slow of a learner. I expect great things of Athea now that you get to enjoy our protection, and obviously those expectations won't be fulfilled if you don't recover fast."

 

[Conifer]

It made Remin's skin crawl under the coarse edges of her dress to hear Cyeria argue with Loran. She knew her wife was used to this, used to him, but- it still plagued her with anxiety to see that happening. But Cyeria knew him better than she did. If she thought it was safe enough to talk back like this, then it was safe enough to talk back like this. Remin would keep quiet like the spoil of war she was meant to be. "...You'd have to speak with the advisors regarding his learning.'' Remin defers, as much as she wanted to just say - yes, he has, he's been doing wonderfully beside me. That wasn't possible. The less she had to do with any of this, the better. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know. But from my perspective, things have been getting done smoothly, and so he must be learning well. Your influence must have taught him well." Did she think petty and pretty flattery would do them any form of good? Much like the rest of anything else she did, absolutely not. But that's why she did it; the more useless and wrapped up in frivolities she seemed, all the better.

 

[Aerynth]

For some reason, Remin's last remark made Loran chuckle; it was a strange, almost disconcerting sound. Was he pleased with the flattery or insulted that she had dared to imply he had mentored a mere soldier? Or did he perhaps find Remin's projected naivety funny? God, Cyreia couldn't tell. King Loran had never really laughed in her presence before, and it was a baffling experience. As baffling as the idea of skies turning green or rivers catching on fire. "Yes," he finally said, "doubtlessly. I shall see just how much he had been paying attention while at the court." Meanwhile, they managed to reach the castle; the servants all bowed as they passed them by, their eyes fixed on the floor. It was weird to see them in this-- this state of total deference. They respected her as well, of course, but they had never demonstrated it like this. Usually, they just went about their work and nodded to her, or greeted her when they saw her. With Loran, though? It looked like fear more than anything else, and they probably weren't even wrong to feel like that. His reputation, after all, preceded him.

"What would you like to do, my king?" she asked as they climbed the stairs. "The journey must have been exhausting. Perhaps it would be a good idea to rest for a while?" It definitely would be a good thing for her and Remin to escape from his presence for a few moments, though Cyreia couldn't exactly say that. No, she had had to present it as concern for his well-being.

"No. No, there is no need for that," he said, and she could feel all hope leaving her body. It seemed that, for the time being, they would have to deal with him. It'll be fine, Cyreia told to herself. There was no reason it wouldn't be, really; she had managed to live under his rule for years. What were a few days in comparison to that? Just a drop in the ocean. (Except that, back then, she hadn't had anything to lose. She hadn't had anything to protect, either. What if he hurt Remin somehow? God, the thought was too much to bear.) "Show me to your office. Also, I'd like to hear more about that festival of yours. I assume you have a programme already? Although you may not have it, now that I think of it, since I haven't received anything."

 

[Conifer]

Remin knew that them being rid of him already wouldn't be as easy as him needing to rest , but still, her stomach sank with his refusal. Gods - this was going to be a tiring week, wasn't it? How closely would he keep a watch on them? Would she have to spend every waking moment trapped in this cage of false incompetency? Remin was starting to have the terrible feeling that yes, that's more or less exactly how this was going to go. Well, they'd have their nights, at least. He couldn't watch them sleep even if he wanted to. The lock on their door was one of the best, now, guarding against pick and magic alike, and they'd keep their curtains rather firmly closed. It would be a tiny sanctuary in this place that was supposed to already be their safety.

"A programme?" She asks, as if she's oblivious to the word, because if she's going to have to seem idiotic, she'd have some fun with it. She couldn't push it too far or else it'd be easy to see how much she was playing this up, but this, she hoped, was safe enough. "Oh, well, we have a list of all the things taking place, if that's what you mean?" She offers as they make their way up to Cyeria's office. They'd at least had the good sense to move any of the important paperwork from Remin's into Cyeria's, as well as all of the planning for the festival. "We have one of those, of course. I think everything would get a bit messy if we didn't." She laughs lightly, and hopes it sounds more natural to Loran than it does to anyone who's actually heard her amused. "We'd be scheduling things all over each other! Imagine a tournament at the same time as the baking competition?" That one had been added rather recently, some tiny indulgence into their fantastical what-if they'd imagined. Perhaps Remin and Cyeria couldn't meet during a pie contest, but maybe someone else could - and even if not, they'd have an excuse to eat something delicious.

 

[Aerynth]

Cyreia decided, right then and there, that if Remin hadn't been born as a princess, surely she would have become an actress. Because that performance? It was the best thing she had ever seen, really, and she had to bite her tongue just to avoid bursting into laughter. (What did it say about her that she still found something to laugh at in such a situation, with their very lives on the line? Something about irresponsibility, most likely, but she couldn't help herself. It was just too funny, alright?) King Loran, on the other hand, didn't seem to find it all too amusing. For a second or two, Cyreia thought he would raise his voice at Remin; his face gained a faint reddish tone, which did not help her in her struggle to remain calm. Who knew this would be one of the issues she would be facing? Not that Cyreia complained, but still; it would be quite a problem if she laughed in king Loran's face. In the end, though, he controlled himself.

"Yes, I'm sure that would be a tragedy," he said, contempt dripping from his words. "May I take a look at it now?"

"Certainly, my king," Cyreia muttered and handed him the parchments. Why did he want to see them, though? That was the question that was burning her on her tongue. King Loran had never been particularly interested in festivities; bread and circuses, as he had called it once, were for the unwashed masses. Why the sudden change of heart? Somehow, Cyreia doubted that there wasn't any ulterior motive behind it. Maybe he wanted to criticize them that the festival wasn't Eupriunian enough, or that they incorporated a shockingly small amount of venerating him (read: none), or... or... well, they would find out soon enough, she supposed. King Loran wasn't known to be a patient man, after all.

The man skimmed through the list quickly, somehow managing to look even more unimpressed than before. "I don't see how you plan to draw in tourists with this," he finally said. "Most of it is far too ordinary. The parade seems to be the only truly eye-catching thing."

 

[Conifer]

Remin took the moment that Loran was busy looking over the papers to sneak a comforting glance towards Cyeria. Was it comfort for Cyeria, or comfort for herself, though? It was genuinely hard to tell, and it was equally hard to tell if it managed to pull off whatever its goal was. Well, it helped somewhat. It was nice to drop her wide-eyed look for a moment to see her wife looking just as out of her depth as Remin felt. They were in this together. Whatever happened, they were in this together, and that was the real comforting knowledge. Loran may have made their home a stranger, but try as he might he couldn't ruin that.

"The kites are the real draw." Remin says, leaning over to tap against the event on the page. "Besides your parade, of course - what a remarkable idea that was. Such a show of...firmness in the midst of all the fun? Inspired, honestly. I never would have come up with that." Because she wasn't a war-focused terror dead-set on shoving every bit of force she had into any situation, but she'd let him think it was a compliment. "But the kites! When Avther told me about them...well, I'm incredibly excited for them. We don't have things like that here. People are coming from everywhere to see them. The Everbrights, do you know them? And the Greyans, and the-" Really, she could rattle off half a dozen other impressive names that he had no idea if they were really coming or not, and so she did. Most of them were coming, after all. Apparently Remin's idea of 'harmless' meant 'an utter annoyance', but...well. That was easier than keeping entirely quiet. And he deserved to be annoyed, for all the annoyance he provided them.

 

[Aerynth]

Somehow, she managed to mask the giggle that threatened to spill from her lips with a coughing fit. God, she would have to ask Remin to tone it down a little because, if this went on, Cyreia would provoke the war singlehandedly. Don't laugh, she told to herself. You know this man and you know what he is capable of. She really did, perhaps more than anyone, except that still couldn't take away the comedic aspects of it all entirely. If anything, it strengthened them. Here he was, one of the most powerful man in the world, being made an utter fool of by her wife and not even noticing it. (What if he had noticed, though? What if he had noticed, and was only waiting for the right opportunity to strike the blow? Paranoia gripped her heart, though only for a second. King Loran wouldn't have bothered to hide his feelings in such a way; not when they practically belonged to him anyway. Had he registered the mockery, Remin would have been punished for her insolence.)

"My queen is correct," Cyreia came to her defense quickly. "Parades are..." totally inappropriate considering the context, "... uh, great, but they aren't the only things people will enjoy about the festival. The more mundane activities will make them feel at ease, and they will give them an opportunity to spend some money." 'If they don't feel too mortified by your show of strength,' she wanted to add, but she managed to hold her tongue in the end. Arguing with king Loran was one thing; defying him openly was another. The line between the two concepts may have been thin, but it was the line Cyreia had to walk if she wanted to survive this. If they wanted to survive this, really.

"I hope for your own good that you are right," he said after a few moments of consideration, his voice icy. Everything about him seemed icy, and suddenly Cyreia didn't feel like laughing. "Because I - and Eupriunia - expect you to pay your debts. I gave you a grace period so that you could get used to the arrangement and fix what has been broken, but that time is nearing its end."

 

[Conifer]

Cyeria's coughing fit made Remin look to her again; was she going too far? Was that a cough of warning? It likely should be, but as far as she could tell, no, it wasn't. Cyeria looked more amused than anything, and that made a quiet thrill ran through Remin.

"And we're very grateful for your kindnesses, my king," If they existed somewhere, at least, she'd be grateful for them. They certainly didn't exist here. Debts? What debts was he speaking of? The debts incurred with Loran declaring a war and then winning it? Were they to pay for their own destruction? Remin felt sick. She was sure this was likely in paperwork somewhere, some aspect of the surrender that she hadn't listened to because it'd occurred after 'You're to be wed to someone of King Loran's choosing'. If she could, she'd ask further, press him for confirmation that they'd agreed on it, but that would be stepping too far. They couldn't afford for her to play that close to the edge. Mocking him under the guise of respect was one thing, but truly drawing him into question...? She knew better than to step that far. "We're expecting a beautiful turnout." She pushed on, wishing so desperately she could reach out and take Cyeria's hand; the sturdiness would help. "I wouldn't worry about profits." She bit back pointing out that most of their events came with very little cost to the kingdom, bit back pointing out that cost of the festival itself would be made back quickly if they had the sort of attendance it seemed they would - again, both too far. But it was true. They'd planned so carefully to make this a profitable event, while still allowing those who hadn't recovered well from the war to still find some reason to come and some fun to be had. Many, many nights were spent awake and poured over paperwork trying to determine prices and costs.

 

[Aerynth]

Oh, so that was what this was about. Protection fees. Cyreia knew about the practice, of course; she had seen it countless times before. Countries conquered by Eupriunia had to pay for it, and they were given the privilege of choosing their preferred currency. And their choice? That was between coin and blood. Naturally, most of them opted for coin, and so they were taxed for receiving Eupriunian protection (or, more accurately, for being protected from Eupriunians). It was a farce to be sure, but to be fair-- nobody could protect you from Eupriunians more effectively than Eupriunians themselves, and they also intervened in case someone else attacked them to defend their money. Still, the arrangement felt much less convenient when she was on the receiving end of it.

"We're aware, my king," Cyreia said in a conciliatory tone. "Trust me, I haven't forgotten about my obligation towards Eupriunia." Now that was a complete lie, but it came out sounding convincing enough. Was it Remin's influence rubbing off on her or the fact that her telling small lies to Loran had always been a part of their dynamic? A combination of both, most likely. "We just ask you for patience. It is not easy to gather funds so soon after a war, as I'm sure you know already. Once we manage to do that, we'll pay. I swear that on my honor." Cyreia would rather avoid that matter entirely, but it wasn't like they had a choice. Any semblance of that had been stripped away from them the second Athea had capitulated.

King Loran glanced at Cyreia, ignoring Remin entirely. It seemed that he had already written her off as a silly little thing; as someone unworthy of being addressed.

"You don't understand, Avther. You've had more than enough time already and now I expect you to deliver on your promise."

More than enough? What? Cyreia's eyes widened in disbelief. "Pardon me for my insolence, my king, but it's been a few months. A few very hectic months, might I add. You know about that rebellion, for example, and that's only the tip of the iceberg. We cannot afford to pay you now. We'll do it, but we need more time." Surely he must have been bluffing? Just... emphasizing his power over them? King Loran was many things, but he wasn't stupid; he must have known how unreasonable his demands were. He knew what state he had left Athea in, for god's sake! Besides, conquered kingdoms always got a generous time frame to fix their own matters before having to pay up. It only made sense; just as you couldn't force a tree to bear fruit before its own time, you couldn't get coin from a country that had effectively been reduced to ruins. What was different here, then?

"Then I suggest you find a solution to this problem, because we won't wait any longer. It shouldn't even be too difficult; taxes are always the answer in situations such as this one. It's better for you to get used to it sooner rather than later," he said matter-of-factly, as if he just hadn't basically advised her to sell her people into slavery.

 

[Conifer]

Remin was glad that Loran seemed to care little for her right now, because she wasn't quite sure that she could say a single thing that would be anything but an argument. The cracks in her mask threatened to split open if he so much as looked at her. This was certainly not something that was in all those agreements they had made. Yes, they must have agreed to pay him in some form, but it hadn't even been a year. It'd barely even been half that. They couldn't have agreed to paying anything so quickly. The treasury wasn't bear, not by any means, but a big, heavy 'yet' hung as a quantifier; money was leaving it every day, and they certainly weren't breaking even. They would, she had no doubts, but not yet. And never, if they were expected to pay Loran what sounded like a rather impressive sum so quickly.

They just...couldn't. Remin gripped at the edge of the desk, biting back arguments. She couldn't snap at him now, no matter how much she wanted to. There was still an entire festival to handle. She would hold out now, and then she would-- find time to talk with Cyeria, to understand this (hoping, of course, that Cyeria might understand what was happening more than Remin did, but the tone of her voice suggested that she really didn't,) and to plan their next steps. Because taxes weren't the answer, unless they wanted to make enemies of the nobility for targeting them or unless they wanted to drive the already-downtrodden common people further into the dirt. If the taxes were for proper things, for beneficial things, then they might be able to swing it. But they weren't. The taxes would be directly paying for the honor of being ruined. No one would pay those happily. Gods, she hated this man. She hated him more than she ever thought she might. Before now, despite everything, he had just been a concept. Someone far off calling the shots. Now, though, he had the gall to make these demands to their faces and perhaps find some sort of strange delight in the process.

"Was this all in the surrender agreements?" Remin asked, but for what? She knew the answer, and she knew he wouldn't care if she caught him in his dramatizing. Still, she had to say something. This was her battle to fight, not Cyeria's, even if she couldn't properly fight it.

 

[Aerynth]

King Loran glanced at Remin, looking both scandalized and somehow not surprised at the same time. Cyreia could just about guess what he was thinking. 'Did this woman not even read the terms?' If he had had any trace of respect for Remin before, then it must have been gone by now. Oh, how that angered her! Not that they hadn't been aiming for this outcome from the very start, but-- well, it had been fine as a concept. Seeing him hold such obvious disdain for her wife, judge her as a mere ornament when she was so much more than that, made her grit her teeth.

"Of course it was," he said, poison practically dripping from his words. "Eupriunians are no deceivers. The conditions were clear from the very beginning and you agreed to them. Now I just want what is rightfully mine." God, what a mess; Cyreia could physically feel the control of the situation slipping away from her. The ridiculousness of Loran's demands was one thing, but Remin worried her even more. It was a matter of time, really, before her temper got the better of her. And if she outed herself as a skilled political player? Cyreia didn't even want to think about the consequences. If their little scheme was uncovered-- king Loran would definitely not appreciate that. No. No, she had to handle this alone before everything spiraled out of control. (Assuming anything had ever been under control in the first place. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why had she been so naive as to think she was anything but a puppet of a tyrant king? Maybe one with longer strings than others, but a puppet nonetheless? No, she said to herself. I'm not a puppet, and I will prove it. If nothing else, Cyreia could-- Cyreia could negotiate. Yes, negotiate.)

"It really was part of surrender agreements," she admitted, clearly uncomfortable with everything that transpired here, "but the exact date by which the obligation must be fulfilled was never specified. It was... it was supposed to take effect when we're capable of paying up. Which we are not, my king!" she turned to face Loran again. "Raising taxes right now would be an unwise move. The smallfolk have nothing we could take for them and the nobles... we need their support. We just had a rebellion. The whole country is still unstable and upsetting the little balance we have won't do us any good. If you give us more time, my king, we'll make Athea bloom, and then we'll give you more than we possibly could now even if we stripped every single lord and lady of all their properties. Think of it as an investment," she tried to save the situation desperately. Surely he would find that idea compelling, right? He had to!

 

[Conifer]

Remin sat in the chair by the desk, every inch of her tense. Every muscle was pulled taught with the strain of resisting jumping in and saying all she'd like to, making the case for her country, her people - the ones that relied on her to do such instead of just sit idly by and toss their problems to someone unequipped for handling them. Cyeria wasn't entirely unequipped, that was true enough (and she was doing well all considered,) but-- but it was still Remin's fight! But all she could do was seethe and sit. Seethe and sit and trust her wife. This is what they'd been training her for anyways, wasn't it? This was a bit more dire than she would have liked Cyeria's more-or-less first introduction into politics that had an impact to be, but at least she knew Loran, and Loran knew her. Or perhaps that made it worse? It was genuinely hard to know. It didn't matter. This is what they had.

Remin racked her mind for anything she could say that wouldn't give her away, but even when some options revealed themselves, she kept quiet. It would be a quick journey from some desperately innocuous comment to shattering the illusion she wasn't capable of having this conversation, and they'd only been around the man hardly a half an hour. This was her home, though, and her people they were talking about. She bit at her cheek, pinching the flesh between her teeth. This needed to be other with, or she needed to leave before she ruined this all already - but this ending before it got worse didn't seem to be in the plans, and she couldn't just leave Cyeria to fend for herself. No. So, Remin sat, practically shaking in her seat, and watched Loran with a gaze that might as well have been daggers whenever he wasn't looking her way (which was quite often, thankfully.) Oh, there was an idea. Not one she could go through with, but...certainly an idea. A fantasy, more than anything, and Remin refused to think about what sort of person it made her to be imagining unstrapping the hefty dagger from where it now was often kept against her leg (paranoia or safety, she wasn't sure, but it brought a comfort anyways,) and taking advantage of the fact that he thought she was no better than a speck of dust. Remin knew she wasn't even capable of it, nevermind knowing it would only end worse for them, but it gave her something to think on besides her people starving so that Loran could -polish his soldiers swords or something else utterly useless.

 

[Aerynth]

The silence was almost unbearable; Loran's glare felt about as gentle as razor, and Remin's quiet fury wasn't helping, either. Cyreia had been on many battlefields, but few of them had been as intense. Hell, even meeting death itself hadn't been as nerve-wracking! (How did she keep getting herself into these situations? All she had ever wanted was to live a nice, uneventful life by her wife's side. Alright, the uneventful part of it had always been a folly considering who they were, but was it so naive to ask for a few months of peace? A few months without wars, rebellions and foreign kings trying to destroy them? Apparently.)

"I don't remember asking for your opinion, Avther," king Loran finally replied. "You will do as you're told." And there went her hopes of this being resolved in a sensible manner. Cyreia knew that tone; it was the tone that rendered any reasoning meaningless. King Loran had closed his heart off to any discussion. 'But why?' she wanted to ask. 'Why did you make me a king if all you planned to do with the country was to destroy it anyway?' Because, no matter how you looked at it, that was the inevitable outcome. Either they'd obey and Athea would be devoured from within, or they would refuse to do his bidding and Eupriunia would drown them in their own blood. Eupriunia, the country she had once considered to be her home. God, Cyreia felt physically ill at the futility of it all. (Was that what lady Beleret had meant? The war she had spoken of, once so abstract, suddenly didn't seem like such a ridiculous concept anymore.)

Still, she knew better than to say any of that aloud. She knew better than to resist, at least outwardly. Cyreia wouldn't bend - not now and not ever - but showing her hand to king Loran would be highly inadvisable. It was enough that she had advocated for Athea so fervently mere seconds ago. Did he suspect her of betrayal already? They couldn't allow that; not if they wanted a shot at fixing this mess. "... very well," she muttered, pointedly avoiding Remin's light of sight. Guilt was gnawing at her stomach, practically eating her from inside, despite not meaning her words in the slightest. Once again, she had failed her wife. Her wife and her people. How very efficient! "We will... find a way," she heard herself say, and the voice sounded strangely foreign to her ears.

"That is good to hear," king Loran nodded. Something in his tone reminded her of victory, and she hated it more than she could possibly describe.

"Was there anything else you wanted to discuss, my king?" Cyreia asked. They were past any pleasantries at that point, so she refused to play any further games with him. He had already made a fool out of her, so why embarrass herself further?

"Not at the moment. I shall give you the exact figures once expenses are fully calculated."

"Right, of course. Would you like to be escorted to your chambers, then? I'm sure this talk must have exhausted you." Fortunately, king Loran didn't shoot her suggestion down this time; soon enough, a nervous maid appeared to guide him to his room, and Cyreia and Remin finally ended up alone. Too bad that this moment couldn't really be savored.

"... I'm not doing that," Cyreia said once she was sure that king Loran couldn't hear them anymore. Her hands were shaking somewhat, but her voice was firm. "I don't even-- damn, I have no idea what happened to him. He was never this... this unreasonable!"

 

[Conifer]

Remin watched Loran leave, her gaze not leaving him for even long enough for her to blink until he was turned the corner and the door was closed tight behind him. She stood near immediately, crossing the stone floor and twisting the lock on the door, not even bothering to wait for him to be far enough away that he wouldn't possibly be able to hear the clunk of the metal. So what if he knew they'd locked the door? It wouldn't doom them too much worse - though she was almost convinced that he'd find some way to hold it against them. "I feel like I have half a dozen apologies to make to Maric." Remin leans back against the door, bracing herself against its sturdiness. "My dislike for that man has shifted the scale so sharply that Maric doesn't even register on it anymore."

"We can't do that even if we wanted to." Remin sighs, sinking down to sit against the floor. Decorum? Never heard of it. This almost felt like their wedding night all over again - the two of them tucked away in some room, hiding from the terrors of the world, with Eupriunia hanging heavy over Athea. It was almost exactly their wedding night all over again, really, and that almost brought some twisted comfort with it. That had all turned out alright, hadn't it? On the small scale, at least? So this would turn out. "Not unless we want another half-dozen rebellions on our hands, which would just drain the treasury more, which would give us less money to pay off his extortion with, which would mean we'd have to tax even more - it's not a cycle that we want to be in."